As It Should Be
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: "Aerith may rest in peace, but he never can." Cloud may love Tifa with all his heart when he's awake… but when he falls asleep, memories of Aerith distract him all over again. Why do his imaginary senses have to be so sharp? Strong T rating for suggestive themes. I do not own Final Fantasy or the cover art!


He sees Aerith in his dreams.

It's been going on for years, long enough that he's beginning to think it might be easier to join the Lifestream himself than remain in this conflicted existence. Wakefulness and sleep are another two sides of himself, another split personality, another facet of the collective insanity that has always been his life. Aerith may rest in peace, but he never can.

He hasn't told Tifa, but she always knows more than she lets on, and does what she can to exhaust him enough that he sleeps quickly. It's not enough. It's never enough. He'll lie awake, slick with sweat and body still tingling, while her bare chest rises and falls in peaceful slumber, an unconscious smile curled around her lips. She's beautiful, he knows. He loves her—when he's awake.

He'll turn his head away from her to stare out the window, open to the cool summer breeze, caressing him with a light touch. The stars glimmer comfortingly down at him, but they give him no solace; their gaze burns him instead. He turns once more to face the ceiling and closes his eyes despairingly, his thoughts and body growing heavier by the hour.

And then, when sleep finally overtakes him, he'll dream of auburn hair and twinkling green eyes and a sweet smile, and his whole being _aches _as he reaches out for her, touches her, reliving all the moments he clutches to his heart for fear he'll forget—the lilt of her voice as he lay in a bed of blossoms, the loneliness in her eyes when she looked at him, the sorrow in her voice as she asked about SOLDIER, the warmth of her smile as she bid him good night.

There was always something familiar about Aerith, ever since the very beginning, like a dream he couldn't quite recall. Something in the basket besides the flowers—something along the edges of that pink hair bow—something which Tifa did not have. And as time wore on, that maddening familiarity began to scatter his thoughts and muddle his senses where Aerith was concerned. Even after he straightened out his memories and realized their connection through Zack, even after everything should have made sense, that feeling still persisted.

He could not get close enough to her.

He was sharply aware of every aspect of her appearance. Auburn hair hanging down her back in a loose braid which swung with her every motion. Green eyes sparkling with gentle mischief. Brilliant smile framed by rose-petal lips. Pink dress hugging her curves. And, he could barely understand anything she said for the music of her voice. Light and airy, punctuated by laughter. Little gasps of surprise. Swift and urgent under pressure, no time for fear. A melodious river, swift and dangerous, liable to sweep him away.

Taking deep breaths, as he had done before with Tifa, did not work to calm him down when he was around Aerith. She carried the scent of flora with her, and it made him pleasantly lightheaded. Daphne for her honesty. Lavender for her incredible luck. Lilac for the courtship they never had. Narcissus for her healing talent. _Rosemary for remembrance_.

She only touched him when healing his injuries—but his wounds lost their pain just at the brush of her hand. He froze; his breath caught. His heart refused to beat properly. His skin tingled where she touched, and not because of the healing magic. And she never knew about any of it, because he was too much of a coward to take her aside by those soft shoulders and tell her how much he wanted her—needed her—_loved _her. He wanted a taste of Aerith. The sweet sound of his name on her tongue, breathed in his ear. Salt forming on her skin and released in her body. Heat and movement—husky breaths, in and out, rising and falling, pushing and pulling—the spice of euphoria.

Here, in his dreams, he does the things he could not do before, telling her over and over again how much he cared, still cares, and how sorry he is he let her die, and finally gets forgiveness along with his taste. Here, in his dreams, Tifa does not intrude, ask why Aerith is where she should be—as he asks himself for her when he awakens again. Here, in his dreams, there is a disturbingly comfortable peace.

He knows Aerith is not the one sending these visions, reminders of a past he never had; she is too kind to willfully tear him apart like this. That certainty doesn't make waking up again hurt any less. Her presence evaporates from around him, and reality crashes back down on his head as he surfaces again. He cannot see Aerith anymore; her voice is silent. No scent of flowers wafts through. No gentle hand closes the wound in his heart; he swallows something bitter, the sour tang of loss, and sits up.

They may as well be nightmares.

He sometimes wakes, panting, before the end. It's not fear that makes his breaths hot and shallow, but lingering desire—lust for what he cannot and should not have. He glances at the woman sleeping next to him, breathing deep and placid in the early morning air. It's not Aerith. It was never Aerith. It's Tifa, and Aerith is with Zack in the Lifestream, and everything is as it should be.

But it doesn't feel right, in the twilight of wakefulness.

Sometimes, Tifa awakens and finds him staring out at the sunrise. She doesn't ask what's wrong, merely walks over to him and rubs his bare back and shoulders wordlessly until he forces himself to relax under the pressure of her strong and gentle fingers. This is his reality, he reminds himself, and makes his way back to bed alongside her, closing his wide-awake eyes. More rest is not worth the risk of sleeping again. He'll only forget what he's remembered, as he does every time he slips into unconsciousness: Tifa is there for him. Tifa holds him together. Tifa loves him.

And he loves her too. He does. Really.

Every day, his eyes and ears and nose and hands and mouth are full of Tifa. Dark glossy hair, bold brown eyes, confident grin, dangerous curves. Voice full of summer, blue skies and bright sun and light breeze. The scent of something bittersweet. Trailing touches up and down his body, soft and sharp. Tasting something hot and sticky, blood or icing.

But every night—he sees _Aerith_ in his dreams.

* * *

_I apologize if I've gotten anything wrong, since I've never played or even watched the entirety of FFVII in my life…_


End file.
